


Ironbound

by Zee_McZed



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aliens, Characters to be updated as they appear, Courtly intrigue, Dueling, Espionage, Feudalism, Idiosyncratic world building, Multi, Or are mentioned, Plotting, Sci-Fi, Space Opera, Violence, futurestuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-05-05 07:25:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5366405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zee_McZed/pseuds/Zee_McZed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gold for the master,<br/>Silver for the maid,<br/>Copper for the craftsman<br/>Cunning in his trade.<br/>“Good!” Said the Baron,<br/>Proud inside his hall.<br/>“But iron - cold iron - is master of them all!”</p><p>-Bruce Lee<br/>A feudal sci-fi tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction - Tea With Grandmother

**Author's Note:**

> Homestuck is owned by Andrew Hussie, He of the Lips. I own nothing but my own story concepts. Inspiration for this has been taken from John Wick, Simon Green's Deathstalker series, and countless other sources. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

_Gold for the master,_  
_Silver for the maid,_  
_Copper for the craftsman_ _Cunning in his trade._  
_“Good!” Said the Baron,_  
_Proud inside his hall._  
_“But iron - cold iron - is master of them all!”_

_-Bruce Lee_

 

The old woman was waiting for her on the balcony. Wind whipped over the marble, and Rose drew her jacket tighter. It was odd that she wanted to spend today outside, with the weather as it was, but one didn't question the matriarch. Her grandmother took a long sip of her tea before turning to face her, nodding. As she stood, Rose had a tenth of a second to realize that she was armed. And she had not peacebonded her strife specibus.

It was a courtesy, that tenth of a second. And it was all that she needed. 

She parried the lightning-quick strike with her own blade, the peacebond SNAPping off with a sound like a firecracker going off as her hand was filled with steel. For a second black steel clashed against like - the two dueling blades were a matched set. The Quills, her grandmother called them. Needle thin, but the blades had no give to them - just sharpness and tearing and an unearthly cold that... probably had something to do with how they were made? 

Rose broke away; she didn't have the wrist strength to throw her grandmother off from that position, but she still managed to make her stagger back with a boot to her knee; her stance changed, to an irregular stance, blade dipped, off hand cocked back. She struck at her feet this time, forcing her to overextend her swipes; it took the option of parrying away, forcing her to work more at dodging, but it gave her a chance to focus. A chance to seek out an opening.

She took the first one she had. Her grandmother did as well. Both darted in, the swords extended. 

Rose felt a slight tickling on her neck. Glancing to the side, she saw where her grandmother's blade had given her an impromptu - and rather uneven - trim, though she hadn't broken her skin.

Rose, on the other hand, had inserted the tip of her blade a good inch into the woman's abdomen. And her arm was not fully extended. If she hadn't had what control she'd been given...

"Touche." She murmured, stepping back; a handkerchief was procured from her pocket, and used to wipe the black from the tip of Rose's sword, before pressing to her own wound. "Heh. Heh. You know, I can remember when you could hardly pronounce the word 'strife' properly..." 

"The lisps of youth rarely stick around." Rose answered dryly, taking a seat opposite the grand lady, Rosalyn Lalonde. Her namesake. "Was that... test for anything specific, or just keeping your favorite knife sharp?"

"More than sharp, I'd say." She glanced down. "You defeated me in a strife, young lady. That's a first for me. Even your mother never took me down fairly." She stressed 'fairly' rather hard. Rose did her level best not to giggle, and succeeded - she'd heard that story many a time. "No, you... you'll do well, Rose. You're the best we have."

"...Grandmother?"

"The Empress is calling for a cultural exchange. Diplomats to be dispatched to Earthspace and vice versa, to live amid each other's cultures. You will represent House Lalonde in this matter." Rose felt the hair rise on the back of her neck. 

"What."

"Don't sound so shocked, Rose. You know that-"

"What do we have to gain from that?" The old woman crossed her arms behind her a second, then sat down. The wound had already stopped leaking. 

"Rose, you are a child of a House."

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"So the Truth has settled in well." Rose squirmed a little and nodded. You could hear the capital 'T' in Truth. She didn't wait for Rose to respond - the question was purely rhetorical. "Then you will know the severity of what I am about to say." She leaned in closer. "They have Strife Specibi as well." And that utterly gobsmacked Rose. 

"Do they-"

"The rank and file? Of course not. No more than our soldiers. But... there is a possibility. Or they may not even have a hint of the truth."

"...and it will be to me to discover this." Rosalyn nodded. "Will... I be in Earthspace, or-"

"Of course. You are too valuable to put that far out - and if you found something out there, your replies might be caught. No, you'll be here, on earth." Rose was silent a full minute.

"Earth. They're coming to - Old Terra itself."

"Not as if they could harm anything vital there." Rose bit back a curse. "And even if you don't discover the whys and wherefores we're both wondering about now, there's vital connections to be made with the Alternian regime."

"Do we know who else is going yet?"

"Mm." She finished a sip of her tea. "We do. House Strider is putting forward David, of course. House English will be allowing little Jade Harley to take the lead - you remember her, yes?" Rose simply pointed to her side. Rosalyn laughed. "Yes, quite. House Noir will be putting forward an unassuming fellow named Deuce, House Crocker will be issuing two diplomats..." 

"The Heiress and the Patriarch, of course?" 

"No. The good Mister Crocker will not be joining the group - I believe his son will instead."

"...John." 

"Mhm. A nice little nexus of your friends." Rose felt the color rise to her cheeks.

"I won't ask 'how'. That's fairly obvious. I'll simply state that my business is my own, and I do not appreciate being spied on."

"We simply had to make sure that you weren't in cahoots for anything vile, dear. That much was determined after the second extended discussion about the deeper metaphors to be found in Ghostbusters II." The silence stretched on. "Your sister will, of course-"

"What?!" Rose leapt to her feet. "You must be kidding! I - I love Roxy, but -"

"Clean for three months now. It'll be good for her to feel that comforting... weight of duty, don't you agree? Besides, she needs to get out more... meet more people her age. Perhaps she and that Strider boy will-"

"Grandmother!" Rose scoffed. "...I'll do my best to keep her out of trouble."

"I scarcely think it'll be needed, dear, but thank you."

"...what about the Alterniaspace ambassadors?"

"Mm? Oh, your mother will be going. Hass, Mister Crocker - the old guard, really. And perhaps while we're there we'll run into the two little ronin who decided to abandon post." Rose knew that smirk. She loathed and feared that smirk. "But - that is a thought for the future. Tea?"

"I was beginning to think you'd never offer."

"I wouldn't have, if the conversation had run longer. The pot's running low."


	2. Games with Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The future is here. It’s just not widely distributed yet._   
>  _-Charles Babbage_

(tentacleTherapist (TT) has joined chatStream @ch413[SECURED])  
TT: Evening, all.  
GG: there you are!  
GG: i was starting to think you would not make it on! :P  
TT: I assure you that nothing could keep me away.  
TT: However, I think we have something to discuss in brief.  
GT: what? you mean the fact that in a couple of days we're all going to be on high and holy terra together?  
TG: yeah  
TG: party on earthworld  
TG: you bring the class and we bring the absurd levels of mindfuck  
TT: I hate to cut off your usual levels of irony, but A) we have a game session to begin, and B) I should mention that I had a meeting with Grandmother.  
TT: It seems she's been reading our chatStreams.  
GG: !!!!!  
GT: what?!  
TG: shit  
GG: since when?!  
TT: Presumably the entire time. She was more amused than anything else, so... I'm just glad that we weren't up to anything dire.  
GG: ha ha!  
GG: good point! :B  
GT: okay look we can worry about the fact that your grandma knows about dave's weird puppet phobia later! for now are we playing or what?  
TT: Start the session, oh grand sessionkeeper. 

The second client fired, and in seconds, Rose's avatar appeared in The Game. Dave hadn't given it a proper title (and she refused to use any of his obscene temporary names), but it was well fleshed out. A Roguelike with idiosyncratic classes, bizarre items, and a "chat" system that took one's messages and spat out almost-intelligible nonsense. 

Officially, anyway. Everyone else's copy did that. But it was amazing how just four additional lines of code, added in quietly with a batch file and then deleted upon quitting, could turn that system into an incredibly efficient encrypted chat line. Rose set her Shmoopsomancer to macroed commands, and then turned to the chat window. 

TT: With that panic-inducing aside out of the way, I think we're safe.  
TT: And to recap for those that just joined us: Grandmother was tapping the chatStream, but doesn't seem to know about this.  
GT: you sure about that?! i mean if she could get our chatstream...  
TT: We dueled. I still draw breath. Yes. She doesn't know.  
TG: i dunno  
TG: you could just be shortselling your fuckawesome sword skills here  
GG: she is good dave but she is not that good!  
GG: i mean roz is like some kind of black fencing goddess!  
TT: I wasn't aware you'd actually tried your luck against her before.  
GG: have you seen what she did to my side?  
TT: Then  
TT: Oh.  
GG: oh?  
TT: Never mind. The point is, I'm certain that this is secure, at the very least.  
AG: How sure are you about that, Lalonde?  
TT: Reasonably. I'm sure that your presence alone is enough to justify hanging me.  
AG: Oh, ha ha.  
TT: That wasn't a joke. You've made more people angry with your existence than I can count.  
AG: So? There's still enough excuse to keep you alive. This proves nothing.  
TT: Perhaps. One never knows with their plots.  
GT: hey, we can counterplot all we want, but it's kind of a moot point, right?  
TT: Howso?  
GT: uh  
GT: earthnet? duh?  
TT: ...Touche, Mister Egbert. The second we're there...  
GT: we can meddle around all we like without being traced.  
TG: not that were gonna be doing much on the nets  
TG: i mean you freaks will be right down the hall  
TG: no need for chat clients just  
TG: hey you  
TG: get your butt down here  
TG: communique over  
TG: unless you want to use some oblique secret message bullshit  
TG: the crow flies at midnight but the hummus is runny  
GG: the atom is mighty but the oak is splintery?  
TG: shit like that  
TG: anything ripped from old noir  
TG: the bad kind of noir  
TG: the early 50s noir  
TG: commie stomping psuedonoir  
AG: If you idiots are getting into your movie fan mode, I'm outta here.  
AG: I need to do some groundwork anyway.  
>A user has left~!  
TG: shit  
TT: She was probably losing connection. You know that she can't admit any form of 'weakness', no matter how trivial.  
TT: "Oh, my physically-improbable data connection is wavering. I must find an excuse to log off rather than admit that it is, indeed, barely-possible."  
GT: ha ha! yeah, but you know she's going to be a little less net-bs-ey in person!  
GG: do we?!  
GT: isn't everyone?  
TT: ...  
GG: ...  
TG: dot dot dot  
GT: aw screw you guys, i think it'll be fine!  
TT: If you insist. In the meantime, we do need to set some, as our dear and distant friend has said, groundwork.  
TG: you want me to get in touch with dirk  
TT: Ideally. Or simply have your brother relay the news.  
TG: done  
TG: like right now  
TG: done  
TG: he just left a note for me  
TG: and a ham sandwich  
GG: aww!  
TG: i just ate why  
TG: is this a commentary  
TG: do i need to put on weight  
TG: does my ass look too bony in these pants  
TT: We don't need to hear about your ass, your ham, or your pants.  
TT: I wish I logged on not believing that I would be saying that.  
TT: We also need to get some information regarding where we'll be staying on Holy Terra. Information on the home planet is limited at best.  
GG: on it!  
TT: John... well, I assume you know what you're doing.  
GG: naturally. we need to brush up on our strife tech as well.  
TT: As much as I am loathe to say it, yes. The trolls are stronger and faster than we are on the average.  
TT: And they have the same advantage we do.  
TG: pants that conceal ass boniness?  
TT: Strife specibi.

No one said anything on the chat for nearly a minute. 

TG: log out now  
TG: clear your hard drives  
TG: reload asshole rumpus from backup  
TG: dont log on tonight  
TG: matter of fact lets keep on the down low until we see each other in meatspace  
GT: YES.  
GG: ROGER THAT.  
TT: This is a safe communique, right?  
>A user has left~!  
>A user has left~!  
>A user has left~!  
TT: Bugger it all.  
>A user has left~!


	3. Miscreants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Memories in the corner of my mind, flashbacks I was laughing all the time."_   
>  _-Troll Mark Twain_

"It ain't fair." He blew on his hands as he lurked in the doorway. 

"What isn't fair now, silly?" 

"Fifty sweeps back w-we woulda been-"

"Culled and turned into grub sauce?" She flashed him a toothy grin. He grumbled something under his breath. Couldn't see a damn thing through all the mist. "Lighten up, would you?" Another grumble was cut off by a slap to the back of the head. "Besides, you can't brood around the door all day."

"Like hell I can't. I got in too deep this time. I-" She pinned him back against the wall with one finger, glaring at him through obnoxiously pink goggles. 

"Lighten. Up. Mister Ampora." He grumbled again, but said nothing intelligible or audible as he sank down the wall. She groaned, looming over him, preparing to launch into a stop being a gloomy bastard speech - but didn't get especially far. 

She could hear someone approaching. Quickly. A rapid patter-patter of footsteps attempting to get out of the annoying, drifty-light rain - and in he barged, shaking his hair out. 

"Hey, Feferi. Eridan, we need to-"

"Oh, glubbin' NO. No, we're NOT doing this again."

"Oh, would you stop it with your hoofbeastoffal chip on your shoulder?! I finally have good news!" The newcomer, short and slight, still had a voice that echoed in the small room. Small wonder, given his outfit.

"Yeah, I heard yer good new-ws. I heard it `til I was blue in the gills and until my auricular clots were bleedin!" Eridan spat, adjusting his glasses. They never hung straight - not since the last time he had to tape them back together. "Yer not better than me, Kar, an' I'm sick of you preachin' at me!" He leveled a finger at the smaller troll - and before he could let loose with a stinging jetstream of invective, both were suddenly throttled, grabbed in something between a bearhug and a chokehold.

"BOYS! I'll have you know that I REEEEALLY would like you to behave. A'ight?" The 'really' sounded more like 'r-eel-y', truth be told. If it was a pun, it was a godawful one that she'd at least made an attempt to censor. The newcomer choked and tried to nod. Eridan mumbled an 'ooookaaaay' that you couldn't really hear - just feel as a slight tremor in the back of your skull. She dropped both. "GOOD. Now - Karkat, thank you for coming out~! What did you have to tell us?" The shortish troll popped up, brushing out his robes.

"Your app got accepted." He reached into a pocket, tossing her a pair of envelopes. "So, uh... yeah, congratulations. We'll all be heading out on the Indignant Dissimile together." The impotent rage had dissipated from Eridan's face, replaced by disbelieving shock. She opened her envelope. Handed him his. Together, they took in the majesty of the boarding passes. 

"...you pulled strings." Eridan's voice was almost accusing. Karkat snorted.

"Of course I did, dipweasel. You guys are miserable here."

"But you're leavin' too." He did not miss the 'together', it seemed.

"Uh, yeah."

"Why?! You got no reason to but you love-"

"Because I can't let my moirail skid off through a wormhole into oblivion by herself, maybe? Or maybe because I'm not getting anywhere here?" He grinned. "Say what you will about humans, they at least respect people in my station. And the more I find out about them, the more... morbidly curious I get." 

"You'll be dead in a w-week."

"Eridan!" Feferi was about to scold him, but Karkat just shrugged. 

"Because I don't wear a specibus anymore?"

"Among other reasons."

"I can take care of myself. Besides... I think we have a lot more in common than you'd think." He tossed Eridan another small package from his pocket. "Compliments of Her Eternal Grace's translation house. Think of it as a little pre-Terra cultural primer." 

"Aw, that was sweet of you. Thanks!" Feferi pulled Karkat in for a sidelong hug, which he sighed and accepted with a little trace of red dusting his cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah, it's all good. Take care of yourself, Feferi. And... try not to get yourself killed before you get to the boarding ramp, Ampora." He stopped at the door. "I told the larvae dealers you'd booked it for Margragnol. If that doesn't throw them off long enough, you're on your own." And he was gone.

"Larvae- ERIDAN! What were you thinking?!" Feferi's hands hit her face. The taller troll wasn't listening, though. He was just peering at the now-in-Alternian tomes that were in his hands, the alien human lettering still neatly visible above the legible text. 

One book was entitled "OLD TERRA ON FIVE QUID A DAY," and looked... hopelessly chintzy. The other was the one he was staring at. "THE BOOK OF EIGHT / THE BOOK OF TWELVE. ANNOTATED." 

"...you know w-what this means." Eridan muttered. "He's gonna be even more insufferable durin' this trip than normal."


	4. Elsehwere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steel unload_   
>  _Final blow_   
>  _Filthy animals_   
>  _Meet their lord_   
>  _Hear us now_   
>  _Clear and bold_   
>  _Wretches and kings, we come for you._   
>  _-Frank Sinatra_

The stench was everywhere. You couldn't get away from it. Oh, you could try. Many did. A dab of oil under the nostrils, a filter worn snugly, a meal of extremely spicy peppers before walking out the door. None of them worked. At all. Some poor bastards just got so used to it that it didn't bother them anymore. Some burned their sinuses out in an atempt to get past it all. And some... some just accepted that they'd be huffiing the scent of a sweat sock soaked in gore and rolled in toxic waste for a few hours, then left out to dry, for the remainder of their lives. 

There were worse things than the smell, sure. There was the risk. The crime rate was best described as 'yes', the late legislacerator that was once governor having left quite a void by her death. The sun burned - not turning the skin red, but turning the skin liquid. The planet's industry was shriveling, and - lastly - no one could be assed to run the sanitation services anymore. 

Pibbris Colony was slowly crushing itself under the weight of its own disease. 

No one from the Houses came there. No one from the Empire came there. The fucking carapacians didn't come there, and those eerie little bastards were everywhere in both of the nations, stretched out and interspersed through the whole of the society, just... there. 

So when two humans were spotted walking through the narrows, it turned heads. 

The hawkers bellowed harder, trying to attract them, to draw them in to spend money on worthless geegaws and offal from the factories. Prostitutes tried to get them to come for a roll in the dried plant matter, or a good talking to and soothing hugging, or a swift kick in the face. A few dissidents screamed at them to go home, that they weren't wanted.

Against all odds, it was the third one that attracted them. They waded deeper into the narrows, into the blocks that were the worst, the neighborhoods where light just didn't go anymore. The jeers and insults grew louder. Angrier. Who were these idiots, and why couldn't they take a hint? They weren't welcome. This was their home, not any pink slug thing's, and they were going to make sure they knew it. Rocks were thrown. None hit the shorter one. They bounced off the taller one; he ignored it. 

The two looked at each other. The smaller one pointed. They continued to walk, and the crowd started to pull tighter. They weren't just surrounding the humans now - they were herding the pair. The humans, for their part, did not react to much. They did not seem to care that they were being led away from the city streets, towards hive structures that were clearly industrial in nature. They did not care that the insults were caving away, making room for angry chanting - a dozen or so slogans overlapping each other, ranging from revolutionary in tone to just plain "KILL THE APES!" 

The end of the line was, predictably, a slaughterhouse. The walls were lined with the fetid carcasses of fresh-culled beasts, the floor a neo-Pollockian nightmare of every color imaginable. Most of the crowd remained outside; the ones that came in were all armed. The specibi at their sides were brightly colored, popping out from the uniform black that they all seemed to wear. 

"You came to the wrooooong planet, nookworms." One of the larger trolls grunted. His specibus flared, and his hands were suddenly full of massive, heavy pipe wrenches. For a second, the humans remained silent. Then the tall one snorted. 

"Dash it all, you mean to come at us with plumbing implements? You had me convinced you all meant business. If that's the best you've got, you'd best stop makin' eel's eyebrows at us and skedaddle."

"What." The troll grunted, squinting at the human. He was tanned - deep enough that he'd make a passable lowblood if it was darker and he had actual horns. Muscles for days under his loose jacket and trousers. And glasses - he had weak eyes. The troll, conversely, was perfection made flesh. All iron muscle beneath his skin, long arching horns, an intriguing hatchwork of scars, and hair kept trimmed very short to prevent accidents on the job. 

"No, he's right." The short one. Extremely pale - Rainbow drinker pale, if the troll believed in rainbow drinkers - with sunglasses that bordered on 'ostentatiously pointy'. "Gotta be someone else around here that's got his head screwed on right way `round. Maybe someone with a few SMGs to their name or-" The swear that erupted from the troll's mouth was not in Hybrid. It was hardly recognizable as Alternian, either - something from an older dialect. If one had to make a guess, the meaning was probably something like "I wish you were boiled alive beneath the seventeen dry pits". 

The pale one wasn't moving. Not at first. And to everyone who witnessed it, he never did. He was in the center of the room first, then he was just... not. He was a foot behind the troll, a sword unsheathed - the hiss-fizz of a just-released specibus in the air. And the troll's wrenches were sliced through. 

"Next."

The reaction was instantaneous. Every troll around them charged, weapons readied. Sickles and hatchets and spears and claws - and the cycle repeated itself. He stepped aside. Ducked a wild haymaker tipped with razors. Took two steps forward, lazily, then was across the room again. He held his weapon plainly and openly - a three-foot long sword, razor sharp, seemingly unbreakable. The tall one didn't move. Not a muscle. He just watched it all unfold over the course of one hundred and thirty four seconds.

The crowd outside had dissipated to a few extremely angry loudmouths, and even they were silent now. All was still. They had all been disarmed - but not one was sliced open.

"That... was... pathetic." The pale one muttered. Not loud, but everyone could hear it. The tall one spoke more loudly. 

"I hate to say it lads, but he's right. I know that you gents aren't what a body would call Rough Rider ready, but damnations and vexations! You hardly know how to use your weaponry at all!" 

"...so what..." One of the trolls on the ground spoke up. Not the big one. He was still silent, staring at the duo. "This whole thing was nothing but a test?"

"Nah. More like a free demo of our goods and/or services." The short one smirked.

"We can't afford a hired sword-"

"Hired? Screw that. I'm just the one that's going to show you what you're holding isn't just a super-fancy scabbard." The short and pale one pulled himself into a squat. "You saw what I just did." The troll nodded. "Ever watch any wartime recon clips?" No one said a word. "Or perhaps you're more the kind to make it up as you go along. Instinct and nothing else. That's why the houses _won_ the war. And you know what?" He pulled the troll, lanky and malnourished, into a hand, helping him up. "That's far from my only thought on the topic... but now we're getting way off track. Let's talk drinks first. Then the lessons." The loose crowded began coalescing. 

It was suspicious. It was impossible. But when a body offers you that much rope, you don't worry if you're going to get hung right off the bat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally posted whilst I was on a heavy dose of painkiller for an impacted tooth. A line near the end had to be altered to be... not... the result of said painkiller.


	5. Wherein The Cast is Assembled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike th' inevitable hour, The paths of glory lead but to the grave._   
>  _-Tupac Shakur_

AWAKEN.

ARISE, YE SAVIORS OF THE WaK(i)^n-

>ERROR: Session($)notfound in line 4^13. (a)bort, (r)etry, (i)gnore?   
>_

>What is going on. 

Bad command or file name.

>Where am I?

Bad command or file name.   
(a)bort, (r)etry, (i)gnore?

>Ignore? What?

-gWORLDARISEARISEARISE>if$LOADSTATE(notfound)=$STATE(generate.888)ARISE

Rose screamed as she snapped back to reality. Her hands were clammy, her head swimming. She felt... wrong. Like every fiber of her being had been wrenched sideways and then put back in, each piece a tenth of an inch out of place in differing directions.

None would have heard her. She closed her eyes again. Not to sleep. To focus. The marble was cold under her (also quite clammy) feet; it was a sensation she counted on, something that helped assure her she wasn't in the midst of a dream again. She began to move. Facing east first, with the sound of 'shi' on her tongue. She was not a true believer in quigong, either as a science or in a metaphysical sense, but the five-element exercises helped to steady her mind and prepare her. As the sound of 'xi' left her for the last time, she was focused... calm... and practically dripping with a cold sweat. And-

There was a knock. She remained calm.

"What is it?" The intercom snapped on at her voice; the answer hissed through the (remarkably old) speaker. 

"Landfall in an hour, your Ladyship." Technically incorrect, but she let it slide. An hour to Terra. An hour to... whatever would come.

She stepped from her room, pausing at the shrine. Four faceless figures, carved of granite, stood above and behind a small, rectangular altar with a spire of the same extending upward from each corner. Her head bowed. She lit a cone of incense, placing it on the altar, but did not speak a prayer. 

She Who Played The Rain would know what she needed. 

The moment of devotion past, she walked to the shower. 

-o-

She wiped her brow for the twenty-fifth time that day. She had been counting. Had the dream shaken her that much? Or - she couldn't imagine what else it could have been. Though - what really was disturbing about the dream? It had been... nothing. Words. Words that screamed into the void within her mind. Words that made no sense. She slapped herself in the side of the head. She'd be fine. Really. She just needed to calm herself down a little.

Small chance of that happening. She still had butterflies in her stomach. 

The ship had docked several hours ago; hours that were passed making sure that all was well on the surface, and greeing local officials, and checking on the schedule for the mishbegosh of diplomatic hoo-ha that was to come. 

That was, for the record, the technical terminology. 

There beneath them, and before them, and sprawling in every direction, was the great Port City, the one point on or off of Terra. In the distance behind the ship, she knew the ocean was lapping against the shore - even at this distance, she could almost smell the salt. Feel the waves. And - she had never been much for the beach, but she swore, there was something in her gut that almost needed to go and see it. Rose straightened her attire - formal jacket and trousers, specibus at her side, unadorned by jewelry or accessories but for a simple hairband. She imagined the others would be following suit. 

She was not incorrect.

Her heart was lodged in her throat now. There on the platform were her friends. All her friends. Dave stood off to one side, trying to look bored behind sunglasses that hid his albinism-stricken eyes. He gave her a vague nod, nothing else. John waved to her - he was as he always was. Almost terrifyingly average in appearance - buck teeth that were never corrected quite right, glasses, and -

"ROSE!" She was nearly tackled by the taller, wirier girl. Rose Lalonde squinted, still grinning, as Jade hugged her. 

"Dame Harley. I do believe that is not exactly standard etiquette?" Jane Crocker murmured, always the face of propriety. The little fireplug of a girl had one eyebrow arched, glancing from one girl to the other - and then a loud snort issued from somewhere behind her.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, no pressure or nothin'. Not like the tabloids ain't gonna take the photo of that and assume you two are crazy lovebirds or-"

"This isn't Derse, Roxy." Rose rolled her eyes as Jade let her down, blushing with the sort of luminosity usually reserved for when a parent discovers you sneaking their beer. Her sister approached - and slung an arm around her, grinning. 

"Yeh, I know. Still, old habits. How's you?" Ugh, the vernacular on that girl. Rose swore it'd be the death of her, if somehow one's choice in dialect could manage to be fatal. Roxy looked good, though. Sober, certainly, with none of the signs of the chemical issue that had haunted her for so long, and more energetic than when she'd seen her last... and really, that said a lot. Jane, conversely, looked just the slightest bit less hale and hearty - the thin green lines under her skin told the tale. She'd been chipped. A full functioning augment beneath her forehead - not unheard of for a Child of a House, but not normal by any means. 

For a moment, she wondered if it was voluntary. Then Jade's own augmentation caught her eye - puppy ears? And a tail? That wasn't just hardware, that was genegrafting. That... that was going to be scandalous. 

"Where's... where's Deuce?" She became aware of the functionary approaching, two rooms away. "The - fellow from House Noir, I mean."

"Got me." Dave shrugged. "I thought we were lucky to all get here on time. Let alone within like ten minutes of each other." The meaning was not missed; jump drives had margins of error on time. Things had clicked TOO well if they'd all shown up that close together. Some chaos was to be expected. 

Jane adjusted her glasses briefly. "In any case, my dearest Mister Strider, I think this may throw off the orders... the heralds are expecting seven from the Houses." 

"Heralds." John groaned. "They're actually using heralds? Holy crap! I thought that Lolar was behind the times-" 

"Hey." Rose and Roxy took a mild bit of offense to that at the same time. 

"-but we're going to stick to heraldry that was outdated centuries before the Houses existed? JEEZ." He turned and thumped his head on the wall. The heiress grumbled something under her breath - something that was not in Hybrid - and crossed her arms. 

"If we're expected to use them... there's not much reason not to." Rose shrugged, finally slipping out of Jade's arms. She rubbed her brow a second. The scars on her side itched. "Are... are we ready, then?" A functionary of no description that Rose knew silently beckoned them. John shrugged and strolled forward through the halls of marble. 

"Sssshankyou again for your pashience." Ugh. The not-quite-a-lisp was grating in ways that Rose wasn't sure how to articulate. She took a handkerchief, mopping her brow, and picked her pace up slightly. "The other ambashadors arrived in a shingle veshle... so we should not have any fursher problems." GRATING. She forced herself to remain impassive, nodding coolly. "Now - if you will merely wait for your cue. Thoshe of you who have not been called may obsherve here." Rose took stock of the area. The local functionaries were gathered beneath them in a broad ballroom - not many, perhaps a hundred, the majority hovering around the open bar. The alcove they were on was concealed largely by tapestry - the weave of which was designed to be see-through from the back. A nice touch, that. The functionary gestured to the herald by the stairs; a few gestures were made to the room, a sign language that Rose was unfamilar with, and a thumbs-up came back. Jane was beckoned forward first; the room beneath them grew silent as the heralds blew their trumpets, announcing the incoming guests.

"LADIES, GENTLEMEN, AND ASSORTED YEOMEN OF EARTH." The voice was deep and bellowing, and just the slightest bit irritated. "From the Empire of Alternia - Warden of the Dead and Dreaming. Keeper of the Ancient Places and Sacred Ruins, and Scrivenati of the First Rank; Aradia Megido." And that was the first troll that Rose had ever seen in the flesh.

The rumors of them all being titanic, ogre-like figures was clearly nothing but propaganda. The gray skin and horns... well, that seemed accurate. But the girl that flounced down the stairs in a rather fetching red, hooded dress seemed... anything but warrior-like. She had a dense main of curly, fluffy hair, and was perhaps as tall as Jane. Probably shorter. 

"From the Houses of Terra..." Jane stepped forward with a single slightly forced stride. "Scion of the House of Crocker, First Daughter of the Last Corporation, Dame Jane Crocker." They had truncated her list of titles considerably. Small wonder - they had a number of diplomats from each side to get to. They didn't want it to turn into a war of titular attrition. 

"From the Empire of Alternia..." The herald double-checked his card. "Of the Engineforges of the Salt Reaches, Smithaumatologist and Steelmonger of the Third Degree, Eridan Ampora... and his escort, Feferi Peixes." Escort? Interesting. The 'titles' bequeathed to this Ampora character sounded forced. And if she was of more common stock than he...

He was of average height for a human. Zigzag horns, a ridiculous pompadour (streaked with purple, of all the things...) and glasses. The leather ensemble made him look like a greaser. The girl on his arm, conversely, looked as if a Hawaiian thrift shop had exploded nearby - all swatches of bright pastel colors and goggles plastered to her adorably round and beaming face. He looked surly; she looked like she could melt hearts just by grinning at them. 

"From the Houses of Terra..." Dave was there. He hadn't stepped forward, at least that she could tell. He was just kind of THERE. One of the many talents that he'd spent years perfecting. "Knight of the Sacred Order of Timaeus, Ranger of the Grand Republic of Texas-" He pronounced it correctly. Te-has. "-Second Intendant to the House of Strider, D-" 

"Dude, say it." It was the first time that Rose noticed the slip of wrinkled paper in his hand. The man gave Dave a strange look. "Just say it." The herald sighed.

"-and creator-slash-author of the... timeless comic duo, Sweet Bro and Hell-of Jeff..." He pointedly did not pronouce 'hella' correctly. Dave didn't seem to care, he was beaming. "David Elizabeth Strider." Not even the mention of his middle name could cut his mood as he slid down the stairs - literally, just angling his feet so that he skidded across the tip of each stair. 

"From the Empire of Alternia... Warden of the Beasts, Keeper of the Grand Herd of Lusii, The Guardiengineer of all Roads and Paths, Tavros Nitram." Oh. Oh, well. So SOME of the trolls lived up to their reputation. He was built like a linebacker, with grand horns that stretched to the end of his impressive shoulders. His garb was... nondescript, all plain shades of black with rust-brown trim. And he was arguing with a tiny, rubbery looking drone of some variety that was hovering next to him - a protocol drone, perhaps. 

"From the Houses of Terra..." There was a half a moment of a pause, before Roxy stepped forward. She'd lost her place in line. "Docent and Minder of the Grand Museum of the Empire-" She had the brainpower, though Rose doubted she'd acted in that role at all. "-First Lady of the Order of the Genome, and Second Intendant to the House of Lalonde, Roxanne Lalonde." She didn't even attempt to descend the stairs properly, instead sliding down the bannister - a move that actually got a few laughs from the assembled nobles. Ugh. You could dry the girl out, but...

"From the Empire of Alternia..." They weren't pausing for anything, were they? "Poet Laureaterrorist, Dire Master of All Cards, and Subjuggulator in the Highest of Highs, Gamzee Makara." Ye gads. If the last one had been massive, this one was just towering. Seven feet tall if an inch, with an unkempt and uncontrollable mane of curly hair - and his face was painted, white patterned to match a skull, like some trollish houngan. He stood impassive at the top of the stairs - and the herald cleared his throat. He continued standing. The herald mumbled something. Still he stayed. She didn't hear what was said, but there was a brief exchange - and then the taller figure took the earplugs out (really? Just - really?) and shrugged, half walking and half flopping down the stairs, in the direction of the drinks. 

"From the Houses of Terra..." It was Rose's turn. John nudged her shoulder. She flashed him a half-grin. No, she wouldn't mess this up. "Mistress of the Eternal Library, Order of the Watchers in the Dark, Order of the Seven Forgotten Ones-" That was the list her mother was going with? She had to question how dragging up her list of arcane lodges was going to go over. "-Order of the First Blade, First Indendent to House Lalonde, Rose Lalonde." She descended the stairs at a quick clip, seeing no reason to dawdle - but she stayed close to the stairs. A few polite greetings to hangers-on, and she focused on the other stairwell.

"From the Empire of Alternia... of the Tenth Lodge of Archeradicators, Mechanicrist of the Hives and Spires, and two time UL-traheavyweight CHAM-PEEEEN... of the EMPIIIIIRE..." The herald briefly lapsed into Vegas Announcer Mode before an orderly slapped the back of his head - but could you blame him? "Equius Zahhak." He was almost as tall as that Gamzee fellow. Muscular. No, not just muscular, Rose corrected herself. The man was ripped. He looked like he could tear her in half with an eyebrow, and yet, he looked like he wouldn't - a picture of quiet self control. The sunglasses were an odd choice, perhaps, but after dealing with Dave so long they didn't seem out of place. 

"From the Houses of Terra... Duchess of Isla Harley and Oceana, Knight of the Order of the Claymore, Prime Intendent to the House of English... Jade Harley." It almost gave Rose pangs to see Jade descending the stairs. She was a stately girl, despite their familiarity - tall and regal and powerful. She'd derived more joy from their duels than a body might imagine. And - she winked at Rose through those huge glasses, peeling off into the crowd. 

"From the Empire of Alternia..." Now there was a figure. He was as short as the first girl who breezed through. Tiny. And yet, he stood with chest puffed out, arms folded behind him - in the black of a priest. "From the Temple of the Twelve and Eight, Padre Karkat Vantas." The reaction to that was a muddled one. How had the herald misread that? He scuttled down the steps - making a beeline for that Gamzee fellow. Either he was trying to keep him out of trouble, or... well, one never knew. 

"From the Houses of Terra..." John adjusted his glasses. Average in damn near every way, bucktoothed, and beglassed. You'd never guess what the boy was capable of. "Marquis of the Provinces of Washington and Jefferson, of the Scholarly Order of Burbank... John Egbert." Rose almost had to take a double take. They had not - what? No. No, it couldn't - huh!? There was almost no reaction from the crowd, however - had she just missed the memo? She stepped up to John as he descended, but he gave her a subtle wave. A little 'we'll speak of this later'. 

Damn straight they would. Who was playing a trick on whom here? The enormous Zahhak had made his way through the crowd - he turned and spoke with John, and Rose excused herself - there was at least one more arrival to worry - 

-worry about - 

Oh. Well then.

"From the Empire of Alternia. Matron of the Brood Caverns, Crown Princess of the Empire, Her Divine and Undying Grace, Kanaya Maryam... with escorts, Legislacerator Terezi Pyrope, and First Lady of the Hunt and Slaughter Nepeta Leijon." Rose felt herself flush. The closest thing she came to a logical train of thought was "oh no, they're hot". 

The Lady of the Hunt was small, just a hair taller than the priest - but wow. She looked... wiry. Powerful. Like a thing that could pounce across the room and tackle her. Her dress, trimmed in olive, displayed little - except for the slit in the skirt, which showed off acres of leg. On the other side, the Legislacerator was a good head and a half taller - more pear shaped, with an obnoxiously loud red-and-teal outfit. She leaned lightly on a cane, and - Rose shivered. Behind her glasses, she had a piercing stare. And she was staring at Rose. She adjusted her gaze, glancing at the heir to the throne - 

-and gods DAMN it were there any ugly she-trolls? She had features that were sharp and angular, her nose a little larger than might be fashionable, but it gave her character. And she had a smile that could freeze you in your tracks. They were in no hurry to get through the crowd - a good thing, as it had become quite dense around them. Rose felt the sweat pricking her forehead, running down the side of her face. She wanted - no, she needed to talk to them. Just... to talk. That was it - and then there was a hand on her shoulder. So light as to barely be tangible. She turned. It was Zahhak, clearing his throat - looking her over carefully.

He handed her a handkerchief. For a second, something passed between her and the massive troll - a mote of understanding? Or familiarity? She wasn't sure what to call it. It wasn't a romantic spark, nothing so dramatic, but - Rose's thoughts were interrupted by a choking noise. A loud one. 

"You can't-" A brief cry. Mumbled voices. All eyes were on the herald from the Terran side. "But - but -" More mumbling. A hissed threat. The herald, white as a sheet, scampered back to his position. "An apology, ladies and gentlemen, we have a... a late arrival. From the Houses of Terra... the Keeper of the Game, appointed watcher and guardian of the Seven Seas..." Wait, what. She wasn't going to- "The Marquise de la Spinneret, Scion of the House of Mindfang-" She was. "Vriska Serket."


End file.
